


Indigo

by Tinevisce



Series: V.I.B.G.Y.O.R [2]
Category: Shubh Mangal Zyada Saavdhan (2020)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:01:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23455207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tinevisce/pseuds/Tinevisce
Summary: Love can drag you down into the infinite, inky abyss. The darkness and the terror of the descent were not the point; the point was that your companion would not be left alone to make the journey.Follows the events of the first work in this series, Red.
Relationships: Kartik Singh/Aman Tripathi
Series: V.I.B.G.Y.O.R [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686157
Comments: 10
Kudos: 37





	Indigo

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, so Kartik wasn't kidding when he said "Isko dard zyada hota hai" about Aman, was he? 
> 
> In my head, I always think of Kartik being someone who just shrugs off whatever trauma life throws his way like water rolling off a duck's back. My version of Aman, though, for all his sociopathic tendencies, is also a sensitive soul...essentially soaking up all of Kartik's trauma and pain like a sponge and then turning them into nightmarish horrors inside his own subconscious mind.

“We should have been rich,” Kartik told Aman like he was declaiming dialogue from a play, “rich people don’t have to wait around for trains or book tickets; they storm out of houses, into their cars and just tell their drivers to drive them home”

Even when Aman was at his most reserved, Kartik’s theatrics never failed to kindle mirth in Aman’s dark eyes. Sometimes, the laughter would radiate from his eyes to the rest of his inscrutable face and he would break into a smile or even actual laughter. It was like seeing a shaft of glorious sunlight through storm clouds; what had caused Kartik to fall headlong into love with the man currently sitting beside him at the station platform.

Today though, Aman was shuttered closed and a response didn’t seem forthcoming. _NOT AT HOME FOR VISITORS,_ his body language said, _COME BACK TOMORROW._ The square piece of gauze taped to the wound on his forehead had an ugly, crimson-brown stain in the centre where the blood had soaked through- Kartik’s stomach churned every time he saw it, made him want to either start screaming at Aman because what the actual fuck had he been _thinking_ or maybe prostrate himself at the man’s feet and fucking _beg_ for forgiveness for causing all of this.

Kartik winced as a dull throb of pain radiated through his lower back over the sharper sting of the fresh bruise, and Aman stirred for the first time in almost an hour. His voice was hoarse and cracked around the edges, the words sounding like they hurt him while on their way out of his throat. “ _Kuch khaaya tune_?”

Yes, definitely debasing himself at Aman’s feet and begging for forgiveness. “We had _kachoris_ on our way to your house in the morning, _tu chintaa mat kar_ ”

Kartik reached out to touch Aman just as the shorter man got unsteadily to his feet, fingers closing on the empty spot Aman had just vacated.

“That was more than five hours ago. You were out on the terrace- the sunlight’s pretty strong today, you’ll end up with a migraine on an empty stomach”

Carefully, deliberately, Aman brushed his fingers over Kartik’s hair as he walked past him in the general direction of the station’s cafeteria.

“I’ll get us something to eat; our train doesn’t leave for more than an hour,” he said over his shoulder as he walked away. The harsh lines of exhaustion on his face softened a little, “Rich people get their drivers to order food for their Kartik _baba_ ’s too”

Kartik understood, suddenly, why people jealously guard their dearest treasures, grudging the rest of the world even a glimpse.

* * *

The journey back home to their tiny hall-kitchen in Delhi was not one Kartik would ever be able to look back on with any degree of fondness. Even decades later, when time and happiness had leached out most of the pain, he would never be able to smile or shake his head at the memory.

On the train, Aman had, with painstaking thoroughness, ensured Kartik was arranged in the most comfortable position possible on his berth, nagged him into finishing the packed food and a bottle of water- then, collapsed beside him at the window and retreated into silence.

Over the eighteen months they had been together, Kartik had grown to understand Aman’s silences and all the things Aman used them to say. The stony silences when Kartik fucked up, and those were at least twice a week during a _good_ week; the hushed, almost awed silences when Aman was content to just _be_ in the same space with his lover.

Kartik knew each kind of these silences and he begged and cajoled and preened and knew exactly how to fill each one up. _This_ though, he had never seen before. Aman just seemed _spent_ , so fundamentally depleted that the entirety of his being had contracted to a single point of intense interiority.

Worry and guilt churned in Kartik’s gut as he twined his hand with Aman’s and felt no responding squeeze from the other man. _Agar mere liye sirf tum kaafi ho, why did I push you into this moment? Why couldn’t I just have been happy with you?_

* * *

Over the next few days, Kartik learned that he needed to specifically, _meticulously_ take care of himself if he wanted Aman to accept even a modicum of care from him. So, every time Kartik wanted to change the dressing on Aman’s wound, he had to grit his teeth and present his back to Aman for spreading _Thromboform_ on the yellowing bruise. Meals were sullenly refused until Kartik served portions for himself as well; Aman only beginning to eat after he did.

It had been over five days since their return from Allahabad and Aman’s catatonia had begun to thaw into some measure of liveliness. That evening, Kartik was intensely relieved to even hear him softly chuckle at something the comedian they were watching on YouTube said.

They fell into bed a few hours later and it didn’t take Kartik too long to slip into deep sleep, the stress of the past week easing at long last.

He woke up next an indeterminate amount of time later, the indigo darkness of the room pierced by amber bars of light from the halogen streetlamp outside the window. There was something very wrong about the way Aman was curled up beside him, and Kartik went cold when he realised Aman was _shivering_.

He reached out to grasp his shoulder and at his touch, Aman let out a deep, rattling gasp like a drowning man trying to breathe in that last lungful of air before going under.

“AMAN! Fuck, _kya_ _hua_ , tell me _what is it_?”

Dry, heaving sobs that wracked Aman’s entire body were tearing their way out as Kartik frantically tried to calm him down.

_Shit, shit, shit. Help someone help, please. PLEASE._

“Aman, _Aman_ , it’s all right, you have to breathe, baby. Breathe for me; come on, focus on my breaths, one, two, that’s it. Breathe!”

It wasn’t until several, horrific moments that Aman managed to start breathing again.

Tears soaked into Kartik’s T shirt. Aman was babbling, still held fast by whatever horror his psyche had mutated the past week into. “They wouldn’t stop, they wouldn’t stop, they wouldn’t stop”

Love can drag you down into the infinite, inky abyss. The darkness and the terror of the descent were not the point; the point was that your companion would not be left alone to make the journey.

**Author's Note:**

> I had originally envisioned this as the second chapter about the "messy aftermath" of Red. However, I realised this didn't really resonate with the colour red anymore, so I changed it into a separate work.
> 
> Although "blue" is what a lot of folks associate with sadness and depression; deep, inky indigo is what I generally associate more with that spiralling darkness you can't seem to fight your way out of no matter what you do.


End file.
